


Golden

by andquitefrankly



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Baby Dwarves, Canon Compliant, Gen, Pre-Quest, Pre-Smaug, baby dain and thorin are bros, baby dwarves being precious and having adventures, dwalin wishes thorin was his bro, this just fluff, you're going to have to visit your dentist this is so sweet and fluffy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dain has never been to Erebor, and if it was up to him he'd never go. After all, what's there to do in a big lonely mountain all by his lonesome? Become best friends with the young prince, Thorin, that's what! If only Thorin would accept that he's got a new friend who's not going anywhere anytime soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HOBBIT BIG BANG FIC! AUGH!!  
> Following Botfa I wanted nothing more than to write a fic exploring Dain's and Thorin's friendship because holy shit, I saw them hug and automatically thought "those guys are bros. hardcore bros."  
> So in response to that I wrote this fluffy little thing about baby Dain, Thorin, and yes, Dwalin.  
> I hope enjoy it! My final posting date is the 26th so I'll update twice today, once tomorrow, and then the last time on Tuesday!  
> Also, I have some amazing art from m-sock, drakyrna, and madswaggins on tumbr. I will link once the art is up!!

The wagon bounced up and down over rocks and potholes, Dain along with it, his tiny form lying on the Warg pelt his mother had strewn across the wagon floor. He gazed up at the dirtied canvas stretched above him, the harsh sun cutting through the fabric and warming the dwarfling’s face.

He sighed, clutching the small axe his Da had gifted him for his twentieth birthday.

It had been weeks and Dain couldn’t stand the boredom. The young prince was eager to play with the ponies and run through the woods, whooping and hollering as he went, but he was forbidden. He wasn’t even allowed to sit at the front of the wagon, afraid that he’d whip the ponies to go faster.

“What if you get hurt?” his Amad had scolded when he asked. “Or we lose you? You’ll stay here where you belong and catch up on your studies.”

Studies. Dain blanched. He didn’t care for learning how to read a contract or talk to his advisors. He wanted to explore the mines under his Grand-Uncle’s care. He wanted to feed the boars grazing just outside the Iron Hills.

He wanted to have fun.

“How much longer?’ he groaned.

“We’re nearly there,” his mother repeated, not for the first time that day, nor their trip.

Dain frowned, wiggling his toes in his boots. “I hate Erebor,” he said.

“You’ve never been,” Arala told him, eyes focused on her needle work, Dain’s torn coat on her lap. The boy was as rambunctious as ever and she blamed her husband’s family for his wildness.

“I miss Rkeuk,” he mumbled.

“He’s with the other hogs,” Arala said.

Dain pouted. “ _She’s_ a boar, not a hog.”

“Ghivashel,” she sighed. “They’re all pigs. Now, how do you greet a foreign dignitary?”

* * *

“No running,” Freya called after Thorin, Frerin at his heels, Dis in his arms, the tiny dwarfling drooling on her brother’s new tunic. Not that he minded, it was far too itchy for his taste.

“Yes, Amad,” he conceded, breaking his run into a light jog, Frerin tripping over his boots at the speed change. Thorin grabbed him by his arm, catching him before he could face plant and cry like the heavens.

When Thorin was told his cousins from the Iron Hills would be visiting, he couldn’t help but be excited.

There were only so many dwarves his age, let alone dwarves that his father approved of. That honestly only left Dwalin.

And while Dwalin was his best friend, said friend was beginning his training as a member of the royal guard and only had so much time left to terrorize the maids or Balin, Dwalin’s older brother.

But his Uncle Nain, Lord of the Iron Hills, had a son just about his age. And that meant he’d have someone he could have a decent conversation with, unlike Frerin, who was a pain in the butt on the best of days.

“Name the Lords of the Iron Hills,” Thrain said, causing Thorin to groan.

How was he supposed to remember that? Wasn’t it good enough he remembered the name of the of the current lord of the Iron Hills?

“You know as well as I that there have only been two,” Freya scolded her husband.

“Gror and Nain!” Thorin exclaimed, pleased that he hadn’t actually forgotten, but was tricked.

They padded quietly the rest of the way to the gates, Thorin bursting with excitement as the wagons and ponies climbed up their mountain and across the bridge, stopping in the huge entrance hall, giant gold statues of his forefathers watching the procession with approving eyes.

“Thrain, you fat boot licker!” came a shout and Thrain lit up like a forge.

“Nain, you old tree shagger!”

The two dwarves knocked their foreheads together, the thump echoing across the hall as Freya covered her children’s ears. This was not appropriate language, and Thrain knew he’d get a scolding soon enough.

“Watch your tongues,” she scolded as Thorin giggled at his father and uncle.

“This must be wee Thorin!” Nain boomed, letting go of Thrain and taking in the sight of Thorin who stood at attention, his sister now standing on her own two feet, back ramrod straight as he greeted, “At your service.”

He bowed low and Frerin copied him, almost tipping over, only for Thorin to put a hand on his shoulder to keep him upright.

“And yours and your family’s, young prince,” Nain replied.

Then off he was, introducing his wife and Freya looked relieved that she had someone to speak to that wasn’t her husband or her children. Finally, someone who understood what it was like to marry into a royal family.

Through it all, Thorin waited patiently, hoping to get a glance of Uncle Nain’s son, but there was no dwarfling in sight. Perhaps he had misheard? Perhaps they didn’t have a son at all.

“And where’s Dain?” Freya asked, voicing Thorin’s concerns.

Aralia sighed, “He’s with the pigs,” disappointment lacing every word.

Screams echoed in the hall and Thorin spied a boar running through the crowd of dwarrows, a small, red headed dwarfling on its back.

“Dain!” Aralia shouted, Nain guffawing beside her, no help whatsoever. “Get here this instant!”

Dain looked nothing more than willing to comply, but this steed cared little for his interests, and galloped on.

Now both Nain and Thrain were bent over in laughter as Freya and Aralia shouted after Dain, dwarves jumping out of the way of the runaway pig.

Thorin watched in horror as Dain was flung here and there, while still keeping a strong hold on the wild beast.

He spotted a bag of oats in the back of a wagon and ran to it, hauling it free and ripping the bag open, gathering the oats in his hands and sprinkling it across the floor. He made pig noises, oinking away as he pleased, until one of the dwarves caught on and called, “Sooey!”

Off shot the boar, Dain bouncing on its back, towards Thorin and the oats, sliding to a stop until her nose was in the bag.

Dain rolled off, red hair in a tangle, braids in his mouth. He gave Thorin a dazed look as he spat out his hair, stumbling onto his booted feet, crunching the oats beneath.

“Dain!” Aralia shouted, hurrying to her boy and finding him more or less intact. She pulled at his large ear, concern easily morphed into anger.

“Amad!” he whined, trying to wriggle free, but his mother had an iron grip.

The boar poked he head out of the bag of oats, only to snort at the scene and resume eating, not caring that she had put her master into a world of trouble.

Thorin patted her head, watching Dain’s scolding in fascination.

* * *

“He’s… different than I thought,” Thorin told his mother as she tucked him into bed. He had moved out of the nursery only the year before, his parents agreeing that he was too old to bunk with his siblings, something Thorin was eternally grateful for.

Freya undid Thorin’s braids, tucking the loose hair behind his ears. “Not every dwarfling is as well behaved as you,” she said, gently knocking their foreheads together. “Now sleep.”

She closed the door and Thorin stared up at the crystals embedded into the ceiling.

Dain was loud and boisterous, with hair matching his personality. They had also only exchanged about two words, seeing as his Aunt Aralia had hauled his cousin away, yelling at him as they went.

He hadn’t even appeared at dinner.

Thorin felt that they weren’t going to get along at all and frowned. And he had been so excited, too.

* * *

It was incredibly unfair.

Rkeuk needed to get some air. She wanted to explore! It wasn’t his fault that she went on a rampage. She was still a baby, after all.

He kicked at his blankets, crawling out of bed and towards his parents adjoining bedroom. He put his ear to the door and heard his father’s snores.

Perfect. They were asleep.

Dain pulled on his boots and a thicker tunic, grabbing a small dagger and shoving it into his boot, just in case. He ran a comb through his wild hair, blowing the curls out of his eyes.

He snuck out of their guest chambers, silent as could be, boots barely squeaking as he tiptoed past his parents, hand over mouth so as not to wake them with his deep breaths.

It was early morning and Dain had all the energy afforded a twenty six year old, out of bed before was deemed proper. He smiled as he found the hallways empty, no one there to scold him or ask what he was doing.

Or so he thought.

He heard them before he saw them, a troop of servants, giggling and yawning, ready to warm fireplaces and dust rooms. Dain had forgotten he was in the royal wing; it was never empty for long.

Afraid he’d be sent back to his room, Dain opened the first door he could find, and prayed it wasn’t King Thror’s.

It was nearly dark, the only light twinkling down from the gems encrusted in the ceiling. But there were no snores and Dain breathed a sigh of relief. No dwarf king here.

“Move, and you shall die before you can so much as beg for mercy,” someone snarled in the dark, a knife pressed into Dain’s neck.

Oh no! He was going to die. He was too young to die! He hadn’t even grown a proper beard yet!

“Speak, villan.”

“My amad’s going to kill me!” Dain wailed, fighting tears. He was going to be murdered, and then his mother was going to find out and ground him until his coming of age.

The knife was pulled away and Dain breathed a sigh of relief, light suddenly filling the room – the gems turning just so, to reflect light into the room – revealing the young prince as his attacker.

“Dain,” Thorin huffed, a small, sharp dagger with the Durin crest on its hilt in his hand.

Thorin was several inches taller than Dain himself, his long black hair a crow’s nest, his scruff of a beard barely worth notice, but he had a hard look in his eye and a regal bearing that astounded Dain.

He was about five years older, but he was already so much more refined; more kingly than Dain could ever hope to achieve.

“At your service,” Dain piped up, bowing as he was taught, a bright grin on his face, near death experience forgotten.

“What are you doing here?” Thorin yawned, crawling back into bed, hair curtaining his face. “It’s early yet. And we haven’t had proper introduction.”

“We met yesterday,” Dain pointed out, jumping into Thorin’s bed, jostling the other boy.

“Go away,” Thorin growled, covering his head with a pillow.

Dain bounced up and down, not ready to leave his new friend just yet. “Thanks for stopping Rkeuk,” he said. “She gets excited easily.”

“Why _were_ you riding a boar?” Thorin asked into his pillow.

“Why not?” Dain fumed. “Erebor’s got rams, we’ve got boars.”

“You do not,” Thorin replied, sitting up  to challenge his cousin. “The Iron Hills have rams, same as us.”

Dain pouted. “Well I’m going to be the first dwarf to ride a boar. Right into battle.”

“You’ll be laughed right back off.”

“You’re so mean,” Dain replied.

Thorin snorted, uncaring. He hopped out of bed and began to dress, grumbling all the while how Dain woke him up. Once properly dressed, boots on, and hair braided, he gave his cousin an expectant look.

“What?”

“Do you want to see your pig, or don’t you?”

Dain perked up, jumping off the bed and grabbing Thorin’s shoulders, smiling wide. “You know where she is?”

Thorin nodded, slapping Dain’s hands away. “Why’d you name her Rkeuk?” Thorin asked.

“Because Da wouldn’t let me name her Makhaggûna,” Dain explained.

Thorin blinked in astonishment before throwing his head back and laughing, his laughter bouncing around the room until it delved into pleased snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Rkeuk means "cinnamon". and Makhaggûna means "she who continues to stink."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the first link of art for this fic!   
> Lovely art by [madswaggins!](http://madswaggins.tumblr.com/post/119792589116/through-it-all-thorin-waited-patiently-hoping-to) Baby Dain and Thorin are my soul. bless their little hearts

Arala knocked lightly on Dain’s door, her motherly intuition rising her early from bed, Nain snoring away, wrapping himself in the blankets.

She felt she had been too harsh on the lad, but he was a prince, and as such, he needed to learn to curb his impulsiveness. When he was Lord of the Iron Hills, recklessness would get him in a world trouble.

He needed to learn patience and reason.

“Dain?” she called, knocking lightly, opening his door and turning the knob on the wall, twisting the gems in their scones to allow reflective light.

She stepped towards the bed, hand resting lightly on Dain’s foot, only to find nothing but furs and blankets.

Arala’s heart thudded in her chest, panic thrumming in her veins. “Dain,” she shouted, pulling back the blankets, only to find her son gone, vanished without a trace. She staggered backwards, hand over her heart.

Someone had kidnapped her baby boy!

* * *

Freya put an arm around Arala’s shoulders, reassuring her as Nain insisted that their son wasn’t kidnapped. The worried look on Thrain’s face said otherwise.

The two had burst into the Crown Prince’s rooms, waking the Freya and Thrain from their slumber. Thrain immediately called in the Spymaster, Bni, who set out his spies to sniff out the dwarfling and his captors.

It wasn’t unusual for attacks such as these on either party, but to be snatched out of bed, right under the nose of the parents. These kidnappers were ruthless.

“How could they get past me?” Arala sobbed. “My baby!”

Freya handed her a handkerchief. “I’m certain that he’s just fine,” she told Arala. “Dain’s a very hardy dwarfling.”

* * *

Dain and Thorin hid, crouched behind a large trough as Dolnar led the rams out onto Ravenhill, the ravens cawing and complaining as the rams invaded their territory. Thorin led Dain further into the pig pen once Dolnar was out of view, ponies braying from their stables, cows mooing questioningly at them.

Thorin shushed the animals as the hogs snorted at them, breathing in their faces as they ate their slop, afraid that the dwarves would steal their breakfast.

“Where is she?” Thorin asked, shoving a very curious pig out of his hair.

Dain frowned, eyeing every hog. “I don’t think she’s here,” he said, running through the pigs, checking each one. “Rkeuk!”

No boar came running and Dain felt his heart stop. “Do you think she was kidnapped?”

Thorin punched Dain in the arm. “Who’d kidnap a stupid pig?”

“Rkeuk is not stupid,” Dain hissed. “She’s a queen among pigs.”

“Well, where is she?”

Dain pulled a stale rice cake from his pocket and clicked his tongue. “Rkeuk, come on girl.”

Thorin huffed, kicking his boot in the mud. They had to get back soon or his Amad would notice he was missing and he didn’t want to know what kind of trouble they’d get into. “Maybe she ran away,” Thorin suggested, stomach growling.

Dain shook his head, his wild hair bouncing. He knew for a fact none of these pigs were his. So where… his eyes were drawn to Dolnar’s form shepherding the rams, shooing away angry ravens from his flock.

There!

A flash of brown between the gray.

“Where are you going?” Thorin asked Dain sprinted towards Ravenhill, stumbling over rocks and overgrown weeds.

Thorin looked to the sky and asked Mahal what he had done to deserve such a cousin. Was this his punishment for eating the last slice of apple pie when Frerin wanted it just as bad?

He chased after Dain, ducking behind boulders, and shoving away curious rams. “Dain!” he called, watching as the younger dwarf dodged out of Dolnar’s sight, rolling onto his stomach.

Dain looked over his shoulder and Thorin and smiled, pointing at Rkeuk, not some 10 yards away. He got back onto his feet and ran towards his pet pig, embracing her with a wild grin. He patted her gently, digging into his pocket and pulling out some oats, feeding her while humming happily to himself.

Thorin trailed after him, glaring at Dain as he reached his side, punching him in the arm. “You’re terrible at sneaking,” he told him, crossing his arms.

* * *

“Thorin’s missing too,” Thrain said, marching into the committee room, several guards following closely behind.

Bni had come back to Thrain with nothing. No one had seen Dain, nor were there whispers of a kidnapping. Whoever had kidnapped the dwarfling wasn’t working with anyone, or if they were, knew how to keep their mouths shut.

With such devious villains at play, Thrain had called forth the King’s Guard to begin the search. And that’s when he realized that he had seen neither hide nor hair of his eldest son.

Thorin was usually up with the sun, patiently waiting in his rooms until breakfast, where he would stroll into their rooms and join the family for their meal. Breakfast had come and gone and Thorin had not appeared, his absence forgotten in the panic of Dain.

Thrain had gone to Thorin’s bedroom to find him gone, no one having seen the little prince.

They had another kidnapping on their hands.

* * *

Standing at attention, Dwalin tried his best not to fuss, standing just behind Captain Ironheart as his Crown Prince informed them of the kidnapping of Dain and Thorin.

Dwalin felt his heart clench at the news. Thorin, missing? Impossible! He was the toughest, most hard headed, dwarf Dwalin had ever met!

True, he hadn’t met a lot of dwarrows his age, seeing as his father was a royal advisor, and he spent most of his time trailing the Captain of the Guard, learning to fight for, and protect, his king. But Frerin had none of Thorin’s spunk.

If he had truly been kidnapped, he would have put up one hell of a struggle.

“What has you thinking so hard,” Captain Ironheart asked, noticing the confused look on Dwalin’s face. Thorin always said that Dwalin wasn’t much for hard thinking, and everyone knew when he was doing it, for the pained expression on his face.

Dwalin looked up at the Captain, surprised to be acknowledged at a time like this. “Are we sure they were kidnapped?” Dwalin asked, just before blanching. Who was he to question his king?

Ironheart chuckled, ruffling Dwalin’s spiky hair. “We’ll find your friend, don’t worry.”

* * *

“Hold onto her fur,” Dain said, holding onto Rkeuk’s tusks to steady her as Thorin climbed onto her back.

Thorin wasn’t really sure how he had been talked into riding the dumb sow, but one second they were arguing over whether rams or boars were better steeds, and the next thing you knew, Thorin was sitting precariously on the pig’s back.

“This isn’t safe,” Thorin commented, clutching onto Rkeuk’s fur at her neck, ankles pressing into her side.

“It’s perfectly safe,” Dain argued. “Just don’t let go.” And with that, he let go of Rkeuk and slapped her rear, watching as she sprinted away, Thorin bouncing happily on her back. “It’s just like riding a pony!”

Thorin could do nothing more than hang on, fear coursing through his veins. He was going to die. He was going to throw up and then die. Goodbye mother, goodbye father. He was so young.

“Thorin?” came a shout, and Thorin could only barely make out the astounded look on Dwalin’s face, his friend wearing slightly oversized chainmail, his straw-like hair, sticking upwards.

“Dwalin!” Thorin shouted back, pleading for his life. “I don’t know how to stop this thing!”

“Stay right there!” Dwalin called back, running through the stables and towards Thrain who was searching under every bale of hay. “Prince Thrain, I found him.”

* * *

“Leaving your bed without permission, not even leaving a note to reassure us. Hiding in the barn, disturbing the rams, disturbing Dolnar, riding that wild pig like it were a pony, nearly killing yourself in the process,” Thrain shouted, pacing back and forth in the royal wing, Frerin and Dis out of ear shot.

Thorin shrunk in on himself, fighting back tears. He had never gotten in so much trouble in his entire life. Sometimes he was scolded for falling asleep in lessons or refusing to share with Frerin. But he had never broke so many rules at once.

“This is unlike you, Thorin,” Thrain continued, angrily pulling at his beard. “Your mother was frightened to death. Half the mountain was looking for you.”

“Dain – ” Thorin tried, only to be quieted by a stern look by his father.

“He’s a bad influence on you,” Thrain stated. “I cannot allow the two of you to continue your friendship.”

Thorin wanted to argue that they were _not_ friends, but they _were_ family, and the Durin’s put family before all. Plus Dain was staying for two months more, it was impossible to keep the young dwarves away from each other.

The door opened and in stepped Thror, his thick robes trailing behind him, his crown sitting heavily on his brow. Thorin straightened immediately, swallowing nervously. They had told grandfather!

“What’s this?” Thror asked, taking in the sight of a tear streaked Thorin and a fuming Thrain. “Trouble?”

Thrain held back a snort. He knew his father had heard of the supposed kidnapping of his heir. He had simply come to stir up trouble.

“Yes,” Thorin mumbled, resisting the urge to rock nervously. As a future king, he was to remain stoic and proud, never show fear or weakness. All would look upon you and see you were not fit to rule.

Thror circled his grandson, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You? In trouble? I never thought I’d see the day,” Thror commented. “You’re usually an upstanding young dwarf.

“Why, I can hardly recall the last time you actually had fun,” Thror continued.

“Adad!” Thrain squeaked.

It was true that Thorin was a serious young lad, but it was simply his personality. Even as a babe, he was hardly fussy, always staring at everything with his big blue eyes, observing and judging. It took years before Thrain could prompt a smile out his first born. Thorin was just naturally reserved.

Which is why a stunt like this nearly gave Thrain an aneurism.

“You are not to punish the lad,” Thror stated, putting his large, calloused hand on Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin could feel the chill of his rings against his barely fuzzy cheek. “It’s about time he had some adventure.”

“Sigin’adad!” Thorin exclaimed, face breaking out into a bright smile, pulling out of his grandfather’s grip to hug him tightly.

“Now, now, my lad. You’re remorseful, aren’t you?”

Thorin shook his head wildly. He was never more sorry in his entire life.

“That’s all we ask,” Thror continued. “And to never do it again.”

The door burst open once more and in ran Dain. “It was all my fault!” he shouted, going to Thrain and pulling on his tunic. “I convinced Thorin to sneak out. And ride Rkeuk.”

Thorin ran to his cousin, covering his mouth with his hand and hissing in his ear, “Shut your dumb mouth.”

Dain licked Thorin’s hand, the other dwarf pulling away in disgust as Dain wiggled free. He ran to Thror’s side. “Mister King Under the Mountain, sir,” Dain said, “If anyone deserves to be punished it’s me.”

Thror nodded solemnly. “This is a grave declaration,” Thror stated. “Are you willing to take on Thorin’s punishment as your own?”

“Yes, sir,” Dain nodded, tears falling from his eyes. “Even if it’s locking me in the dungeons for a hundred years.”

He was so overdramatic, Thorin thought to himself, rolling his eyes. “I’m not in trouble, you dummy,” Thorin told him, punching Dain in the arm. “You’re just embarrassing himself.”

Dain blinked, staring up at Thror in surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” Thrain sighed.

Dain yipped, jumping in the air, wrapping his arms around Thorin. “Let’s go throw rocks at miners!” Dain shouted, pulling Thorin’s arm.

“We’re not doing that!” Thorin exclaimed, but allowing himself to be dragged away.

“You’re no fun,” Dain pouted. “You’re a terrible best friend.”

“We are not best friends!”


	3. Chapter 3

Thorin woke to the sudden poking of his side. He burrowed further into his blankets, ignoring the pest who didn’t understand that he actually wanted to sleep in for once.

“Wake up,” Dain whispered, crawling onto Thorin’s bed, trying to pull the blankets out of his cousin’s strong grip. “You promised we’d go fishing.”

“It’s still dawn,” Thorin grumbled, trying to kick Dain off of him to no avail. Thorin just wanted to get one decent night’s rest. That’s all. He felt he wasn’t asking for the impossible. It had been done before. Before Dain, that was.

Thorin liked his cousin, truly, he did. But he was just so… energetic, would be a polite word to describe him. He was constantly bouncing off the walls, flitting to and fro, never staying in one spot for long. From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until he closed them at night he was a constant ball of energy, fidgeting in his seat during lessons, the first to shout and yell and hoot for joy.

He was so open with his emotions, unlike Thorin himself, who was more apt to consider his emotions, mull them over, and let them wash over him like a calm wave. Dain was more akin to a hurricane, wreaking havoc before finding his calm.

“The fish are no doubt still abed,” Thorin growled, managing to kick Dain in the stomach to his great satisfaction.

That seemed to quell Dain’s excitement, absentmindedly rubbing his belly. “When do they wake up?” Dain asked.

“At least another hour,” Thorin told him, sleep quickly slipping away. “But we’ll wake them up.”

There was no point in fighting the inevitable. Dain would just stand there impatiently for an hour which only hinder Thorin’s attempts at rest. Best to tackle the day now, rather than later with a keyed up dwarfling at his side.

Dain smiled, rocking up and down in his boots. Thorin cast him a weary look as he got out of bed, regretting his decision as the cold air enveloped him.

He shivered in his night shirt, frozen toes hopping on the cold stone, rushing to his closet for something warm to wear. It was still spring and the mountain mornings were as chilly as ever, but it was no doubt bound to get warmer in the day.

And if he knew Dain, they’d be running around all day. Best to dress light.

Light tunic in place and his favorite boots on, he rushed to the kitchens, Dain at his heels, their stomachs demanding nourishment.

“Where are ya off to, then?” Captain Ironheart asked, his large, calloused hand blocking entrance to the main corridor. “A bit early for wee ones to be up.”

Dain bristled. “We’re not wee anything,” he told the captain of the guard. “I’m almost thirty!”

“Right young lad you are,” Ironheart agreed, nodding his head sagely, ruffling Dain’s already mess of hair. “But still wee just the same.”

“We’re going fishing,” Thorin told him, looking down his sharp nose. “If you must know.”

The captain laughed, used to the haughty treatment. He had been around plenty of princes at Thorin’s particular age, sure of his authority and power, but still unsure of when or how to wield it. And knowing Thorin’s character, he would learn very soon.

“And where are your poles?” Ironheart asked. “Seems a bit strange to go fishing with no fishing poles.”

“We’re getting them from Master Fisher,” Thorin replied. “Now, may we pass, or do you have more questions?”

Iron heart stepped aside, allowing the boys to pass, but tailing them, much to their great dismay.

“Do you not trust us?” Dain asked, eyeing the captain suspiciously.

“I’m just doing my job,” he told the dwarfling. “You’re not to be left unsupervised.”

Thorin grumbled under his breath but didn’t acknowledge that statement with an answer. He knew very well that he and Dain were not allowed outside the mountain, nor anywhere within the mountain without an “escort.”

Escort was just the political word for bodyguard.

The boys quickly forgot about their large shadow upon stepping into the bustling kitchen, Mistress Asdris waving a ladle at the new kitchen hands. “Open your eyes,” she hollered, whacking one with her favored tool, the poor lad stumbling forward, nearly toppling into his pot of porridge.

“Mistress Asdris,” Thorin and Dain cried.

The cook turned to them with a wide smile. “My little gold nuggets,” she exclaimed, shoving past her workers to kneel before the young prince and his cousin.

Asdris was a plump dwarrowdam with long blonde locks she kept braided atop her head like a crown. She had a soft spot for the serious princeling, giving him extra helpings of dessert or sneaking him snacks. She smiled more when Thorin was within ten feet of her than an entire week without seeing him.

She planted wet, hairy kisses on the boys’ faces. “I have your luncheon prepared,” she told them, before standing and hollering for the prince’s lunch. A red faced dwarf ran towards her, picnic basket prepared, before scurrying off.

“I put some toffee in there,” Asdris told them with a wink, ignoring the way Ironheart stared at her.

“Thank you, Mistress Asdris,” Thorin said with a smile, smacking away Dain’s hand as he tried to free the candy. “We’ll give you any fish we catch.”

Asdris pressed another kiss to Thorin’s forehead. “And I will make the most delicious meal for you,” she promised.

“Mistress,” a feeble dwarrow interrupted, voice cracking. He couldn’t be more than fifty.

She stood up, frown firmly in place. “What have you done now?” she boomed. The lad quivered in his boots but pointed at his station where a small meal had been set up.

“Breakfast for his Highness and the young lord,” the boy told her.

The boys whooped with joy, scrambling to take their seats, scarfing down honey rolls and sweet milk. Ironheart simply shook his head. “You spoil them,” he pointed out, only to be whacked with Asdris’ ladle.

“If you lose my boys, I will have your beard,” Asdris sniffed, glaring up at Ironheart who had at least a foot on her.

“Yours?” Ironheart asked.

“Mine,” she confirmed. “And the same goes for Dwalin.” She ignored Ironheart’s spluttering to pull a bowl of strawberries from her pantry and set them before Thorin and Dain.

* * *

Master Fisher was an old dwarf, stooped and white haired, who lived just outside the mountain along the edges of the river that led down to the lake of Esgaroth; his name forgotten with time.

Thorin had been his most eager pupil, coming down during the warm Spring days to learn about the fish that lived in the river and the lake. It was plenty of excitement for an old dwarrow like himself, and he looked forward to Thorin’s visits.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about Dain.

“Eugh,” Dain blanched, watching in horrid fascination as Thorin hooked a wiggling worm to his line. “They’re still alive!”

“Of course they are,” Thorin told him with a roll of his eyes. “You can’t catch fish with dead bait.”

Master Fisher would have corrected Thorin, but found their bickering entertaining. He shared a warm smile with Captain Ironheart, who was less focused on his young charges and more on the landscape.

Fisher wanted to assure the captain that it was perfectly safe in this tiny corner of the mountain, but found that as long as he didn’t dissuade the dwarflings from their task, then he may do as he chose. Not everyone was cut out for fishing.

Thorin, Fisher believed, was a born fisher. He was patient, stubborn, and most importantly, not afraid of getting his hands dirty. There was no greater joy than gutting your own fish.

“You think they taste good?” Dain asked, staring at the worm wiggling in his hands. Thorin simply raised a brow at him. “Fish like them, and I like fish. So maybe worms aren’t all that bad.”

“Eat it,” Thorin told him, turning his attention back to his line, not caring about any of Dain’s philosophical rants.

“If I eat it,” Dain said, “You have to give me your toffee.”

Thorin turned to him with a scowl, snatching the worm out of Dain’s hand. “That’s unfair.”

“I’ll do it,” Dain challenged. “And then I’ll eat all your toffee.”

Thorin stared Dain down before opening his mouth and stuffing the worm into his mouth. Master Fisher could only stare in disbelief, Dain gaping at his cousin, as Thorin swallowed down the worm. He smiled triumphantly, returning to his fishing as if nothing happened.

“Gross!” Dain shouted, hopping up and down, grabbing a worm and stuffing it into his mouth. He chewed it, immediately regretting that action as its taste flooded his mouth.

He gagged, spitting out the worm in bits and pieces, parts of it sticking to his gums. Thorin hooted with laughter, clutching his belly as he flopped over. “You’re so dumb,” he laughed. “Why’d you bite it?”

“I hate you,” Dain grumbled. “I’m not giving you any of my toffee!”

“Too bad,” Thorin replied with a smug grin. “I ate my worm and you couldn’t eat yours.”

“That’s not fair!” Dain shouted.

Thorin stuck out his tongue, hand digging into their lunch basket, no doubt reaching for Dain’s share of the toffee.

Dain clenched his fists and jumped atop Thorin, the other dwarf caught by surprise, head hitting the soft bank with a thud. There was an look of pure shock on Dain’s face before Thorin rolled atop the other dwarf, pinning his hands to the ground.

Ironheart, having ignored the boys for most of their excursion, finally stood at attention, Master Fisher flitting behind them, looking on helplessly. The captain picked up Thorin by the waist, setting him softly on his feet before giving Dain a helping hand.

“What’s this all about then?” he asked. He had never expected to become a glorified babysitter when he took on the role of Captain of the Guard, but there were less enjoyable tasks that he could have, so simply smiled and bared the humility of it all.

“He’s gonna eat my toffee,” Dain explained, pointing an accusatory finger at Thorin.

Thorin huffed, slapping Dain’s grubby finger out of his face. “I wasn’t going to, you big baby,” Thorin shot back, returning to his fishing pole, much to Master Fisher’s relief.

“Was too,” Dain grumbled, wiping his face free from dirt and plopping down beside Thorin, keeping a watchful eye on his movements. He didn’t want to risk his toffee being stolen.

Captain Ironheart sighed, taking his own fishing pole from the old dwarf and setting himself on a rock.

The rest of the afternoon went by peacefully, the only hiccup during lunchtime when Ironheart had to hold the toffee hostage for fear the boys were going to rip each other’s measly beards out for a piece of it.

The sun was nearing the base of Erebor when Ironheart made them pack up, a large basket full of fish in his arms, most of which were caught by Thorin.

“Next time I’ll catch the biggest and mostest fish,” Dain bragged, dragging their picnic basket behind them.

“The fish just don’t like you,” Thorin teased.

Dain pouted, dropping the lunch basket to tackle Thorin.

Captain Ironheart sighed. He was much too old – and overqualified – for this job.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said there was going to be 4 chapter but i lied. it gonna be 5. also!!  
> MORE ART! this time by [m-sock.](http://m-sock.tumblr.com/post/119941957817/golden-by-andquitefrankly-dain-has-never-been-to)

“How’d I look?”

Dwalin tilted his head to the side, taking the large furs sewn onto Thorin’s new coat, the gold stitching on his deep blue tunic, the lopsided crown on his head, and held back his grin. “Stupid,” Dwalin replied. So he didn’t try too hard.

Thorin frowned, looking at himself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. “I don’t look too bad,” he murmured.

He fixed his crown and frowned. Who was he kidding. He looked ridiculous. He looked like the rag doll Dis carried with her everywhere, the little dwarf prince with button eyes and bright, oversized clothes.

The door burst open and in dashed Dain, the red in his coat clashing with the red in his hair, his boots slightly too small, a small chocolate stain already on his trousers. His eyes bugged as he took in the sight of Thorin. “You look amazing!” he crowed.

Thorin preened under the praise while Dwalin rolled his eyes. Well compared to himself, Thorin looked like the King Under the Mountain. Dain looked more like a child playing dress up. Thorin had the regal bearing of true royalty.

And Dwalin wasn’t just being unnecessarily cruel because Dain had taken up all of Thorin’s time. They went fishing together, explored the mines, went to lessons together, ate Mistress Asdris’ toffee together.

Why was Dain so special and important? He still had a wooden training sword! How could Thorin possibly find _him_ more fun, more interesting, than Dwalin.

He was more than pleased to be Thorin’s personal guard for Dain’s going away feast. It was the best news he had had in months.

“Hurry up,” Dain groaned, throwing himself into an armchair, picking at a loose thread on his coat. “I don’t want miss the cherry pies.”

Thorin harrumphed, but took one last look at himself in the mirror before slapping Dain on the shoulder. “Let’s go then.”

Dwalin followed obediently, feeling the eyes of the older guards on him. This night was a test to see if he had what it took to become a royal guard. Just because he had old Ironheart as his teacher, didn’t mean that he had what it took. There were other young dwarrows eager to take up the position as Thorin’s personal guard.

It was his duty to keep Thorin in line, make sure he was free from danger, whether he be the cause or at the mercy of it. Which is one other reason he didn’t like Dain.

Trouble followed that dwarf like stink on a bug.

The young princes met their parents in a room adjacent to the great hall. Thorin was pinched and prodded, while Dain dodged the strong fingers of her mother, trying to untangle the knots in his hair.

Dwalin stood aside and watched, ignoring the amused looks on his brother’s and father’s face. They may be advisors to the Durin family (Balin still only an apprentice), and that gave them some leeway in their duties, but Dwalin knew his job.

He was to watch and protect. He was a silent stone while his other family members were babbling brooks, which was just fine for him. He wasn’t much of a talker anyway.

“I want cherry pie!” Dain groaned as he was shoved by Thorin into line, the doors opening and the dwarrows in the great hall quieting at the sight of the royal family and guests.

Thorin shushed him, sharing a smirk with Dwalin. Maybe Thorin didn’t like him as much as he pretended too…

The Durins took their seats at the head table, elevated for all to see them, Dwalin positioning himself behind Thorin. He looked down at the dwarves of Erebor and swallowed. These seats really made hiding impossible. Any and everyone could see him!

Not that they would care for him. But the thought still stood. If he so much as slipped up in his duties, everyone below would see every fatal mistake.

No pressure.

Thror stood, his long grey beard dipping in his glass of wine. He raised a hand to silence the hall, conversations ceasing immediately, all attention on their king. “Tonight we drink and eat to our dear friends of the Iron Hills,” Thror stated, nodding politely at Nain.

“They will return home on the morrow, but tonight, we feast!”

With that, Thror sat back down and servants rushed out of the kitchens carrying trays laden with food; steaming slabs of pork and beef, roasted potatoes, blocks of cheese, cakes, candies, the list went on and on.

Dwalin ignored his hunger pains. He would eat shortly after the feast, once Thorin was asleep in his bed, free from harm and danger. Though if Thorin were to sneak him a bread roll, well he most certainly wasn’t going to say no.

“Is he just going to stand there?” Dain whispered loudly in Thorin’s ear, pointing at Dwalin with as much stealth as an Oliphant.

“It’s his job,” Thorin told his friend, turning to Dwalin and tossing a grape at his mouth. Dwalin obediently opened his mouth and caught the fruit, munching on it in delight.

Dain wrinkled his nose. “But he’s our age,” Dain insisted. “Why is he working?”

Thorin sighed, leaning in close to explain. “He’s training to be a royal guard, and his Da is my Da’s best adviser, so he can start at thirty instead of forty, because he’s going to be my guard and it’s best to have someone sooner rather than later, see?”

“Also,” Thorin added. “It keeps him out trouble.”

Dwalin held back his clenched fist. He was not allowed to punch the heir apparent in the face, no matter how annoying he was being.

“Well if he’s your guard that means he has to follow you everywhere,” Dain commented as he stuffed his face with his third slice of cherry pie, red staining his cheeks and fingers.

“Yeah,” Thorin replied, not really seeing where this was going.

“Is he allowed to tell on you?” Dain asked.

A mischievous grin grew on Thorin’s face. “Not if I order him not to,” Thorin answered.

“Perfect!”

“Dwalin, follow us, no words to anyone,” Thorin ordered, sliding out of his chair and under the table, Dain following quickly behind. Dwalin could do nothing but try to catch the eyes of another guard. One more seasoned than him. He may not be able to tell anyone that Thorin and Dain were ditching the feast, but he could probably signal someone.

Only no one was paying attention to the young prince and his friend. Dwalin looked to the ceiling and asked Mahal for guidance.

“Get under here,” Thorin hissed, his head popping out from under the table at Dwalin’s boot.

Dwalin frowned, but did as he was told, slowly sinking to his knees and crawling under the table himself. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“The kitchens,” Dain announced. “I want more pie.”

The young dwarrows slipped unseen from the head table, hiding behind a large, marble statue of King Thror. “Maybe Mistress Asbris has some toffee,” Dain grinned, elbowing Dwalin in the ribs, much to his chagrin.

“They’re going to notice you’re missing,” Dwalin hissed into Thorin’s ear.

Thorin swatted him away, the reward of toffee too great to care much for the consequences. It seemed like Dain was beginning to rub off on Thorin and Dwalin was to be the only level headed one. He was going to be in so much trouble when they got caught, and they _were_ going to get caught.

There was no doubt about that.

They tiptoed to the kitchens, avoiding getting stepped on from busy kitchen maids and harried cooks. They were barely noticed, servants dancing around them as they snuck into the first pantry, shelves filled with treats and goodies.

Dwalin kept guard, praying to Mahal that Mistress Asdris would notice them, but she was nowhere to be found, allowing such ruthless dwarflings to run amok. He glanced over his shoulder to find Thorin balancing Dain on his shoulder, his eyes wide in delight as he came to reaching distance of a great bit cherry pie.

“Move closer,” Dain whispered, Thorin obliging, only stumbling once.

This was it. He was dead. Dwalin was sure of it.

Dain managed to grab the pie, whistling sharply at Dwalin. “Grab this,” he said, handing over the pie, not even making sure Dwalin had a secure hold.

The pie crashed to the ground, cherry filling splattering onto Thorin and Dwalin, looking like victims of brutal massacre. Thorin slipped on the pie, falling backwards, Dain tumbling after him.

“The pie,” Dain groaned, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, or the flattened dwarf below him.

Dwalin had had enough. He didn’t care what anyone else said. He was not going to just stand and watch as his prince and his _friend_ made a mess of themselves.

He marched right up to Dain, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him to his feet. He maintained his glare as he offered a hand to Thorin, looking away only to check Thorin for any injury.

“We have to go back,” Dwalin told Thorin. “If we go now, maybe they won’t notice.”

Thorin only shook his head. “We can’t leave this here,” he said, pointing to the mess on the ground. “What if one of the servants get blamed. We have to tell Mistress Asdris.”

“No!” Dain exclaimed, jumping into their private discussion, draping himself over Dwalin’s back, uncaring for how he had stiffened under his touch, or that Dwalin had at least a good foot on him. “We’re going to get in trouble.”

“You’re going to get in trouble no matter what,” Dwalin hissed, shrugging Dain off his shoulder. “Best to face it head on.”

Thorin nodded his head in agreement. “We’ll accept our punishment as proper dwarrows.”

Now _that_ was the Thorin Dwalin knew. He was happy to know that that dwarf was still in there, not completely tainted by Dain and his wild ways.

A shriek pierced the air and the dwarflings looked up in shock at the maid who had found them. She pointed at their reddened clothes, the spilt pie brutally murdered on the ground staring ominously up at her as she stumbled backwards.

The young dwarves shared a look, aware of what this looked like. “It’s only pie,” Thorin tried to reassure her, but the servant was too affected. She ran out of the pantry, crashing into a servant carrying a large tray of dirty plates.

The plates crashed onto the ground, another servant rushed into the kitchen only to slip on the broken shards of porcelain, the pitcher of wine in his hands flying towards the stove.

“We’re dead,” Thorin said as a fire erupted in the kitchens.

“What do we do?” Dain asked, flitting to and fro, hands reaching out towards various objects, not sure how he can help. He grabbed a rough towel and swatted at the fire, succeeding only in setting the rag on fire.

“Dwalin!” Thorin shouted. “Do something!”

Right. He could do that. Dwalin ran out of the kitchens and to the feasting hall where the rest of the dwarrows remained utterly clueless. “Fire!” he shouted.

* * *

Thorin, Dain, and Dwalin stood shamefaced before Mistress Asdris, Captain Ironheart, their parents, and the entire kitchen staff.

Half of the kitchens were charred, having been contained after the initial panic. Luckily, the servants were more level headed than the dwarflings, having found pitches of water and thrown it onto the fire. But the fact remained that they had caused a fire, ruined the feast, and made life difficult for the help.

“What were you thinking?” Nain shouted, completely astounded. Dain had gotten into very little trouble since his visit, barring the first kidnapping incident. Thorin was relatively good at containing his more reckless behavior. But this. This took the cake.

“They weren’t thinking,” Thrain added on, disappointment flooding through him. Once Dain left, he’d be stricter on the young dwarf. Instill discipline, pride, and understanding of consequences.

“Dwalin,” Fundin said, “What happened?”

“He was supposed to be watching them!” Nain exclaimed. “He’s hardly guard material is he?”

Dwalin shrunk into himself. This was it. He was going to be kicked out of the royal guard. His first mission and he failed spectacularly.

“He’s just a dwarfling himself,” Captain Ironheart chimed in, offering Dwalin a reassuring smile. “I think he did a rather astounding job, actually.”

Asdris grabbed a handkerchief and wiped Dwalin’s face. “Is this pie?” she asked. Dwalin nodded guiltily.

Freya was the first to break, snorting in laughter,  Asdris following quickly behind. “Thrain, I think they’ve learned their lesson,” Freya told her husband, kneeling before Thorin wiping away the tear stains on his cheeks.

“I’m not bothered by this mess,” Asdris said, pointing at the ruined kitchens. “I’ve had worse on Durin’s Day.”

“We’re just going to let them get away with this?” Thrain asked, dumbfounded.

“You’re repentant?” Captain Ironheart asked the lads.

They nodded their heads vigorously. “I’ll never eat cherry pie again,” Dain sobbed.

 


End file.
